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“I was out on a stroll.” I reply, my voice edged with amusement. “Figured I’d intervene before a certain Rapunzel decided to leap off a bridge.”

“For the love of God, I wasn’t going to.” The way the lies easily rolls off her tongue tells me she’s being doing it for years.

“What are you doing here?” She probes.

“I needed some air.” I answer honestly and she nods as if relating to it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Here?” I raise a brow at her, recalling I don’t know where here is. I’ve been driving for an hour or two and I don’t have my fucking phone with me.

Roman is going to bite my head off once I return. I’m pretty sure he’s planning my execution as we speak.

“London?” She’s hesitant for a while, for what? I have no idea.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m from Oxfordshire.” “Here as in, England, the UK?”

I tilt my head at that. “What gave it away?”

“You have an accent.”

So, she noticed. The thought hits warmly somewhere in my chest, pulling the faintest hint of a smile from me.

I nod once.

“Russia.” I tell her. The word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, dredging up everything I’d spent years trying to bury.

My gaze drops as it all crashes into me at once—two years of torture, a back carved with scars that’ll probably never heal and a mother I only learned today had died the same day she left me.

I try to inhale and fail.

I try again.

And again. And fail again, until a warm hand lands on my shoulder, forcing me to look up.

“Are you okay?” She asks, concern marring her tiny heart- shaped face, and I’m already shaking my head, unable to stop these fucking tears as a shivering sob surfaces.

Fuck, I’m so pathetic.

Fuck. Fuck. I’m crying in front of a stranger.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She hops off the bike so quickly she nearly stumbles, panic written all over her face, her movements too quick.

Her eyes dart around awkwardly before settling on the railing behind me.

She loops the scarf around the railing and gives it a sharp tug. The wool stretches before giving way with a soft rip, loose threads feathering from the torn edges.

She huffs out a triumphant little laugh before handing me the smaller tattered piece.

I stare at her in disbelief before fishing a handkerchief out of my pocket and holding it up. She snorts so loud and rolls over in laughter, throwing her head back and I find myself staring.

My mouth open, unable to breathe as the sweet sound takes hold of my heart, forcing it to stop beating.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What is this feeling?